It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. It was Writers Cantina time and my third consecutive weekend on the road. Things got interesting when I discovered that the hotel I had booked was not the pleasant place at which I had stayed the two previous years. That could be because I waited so long to make the reservation, not being certain whether I would be able to attend the cantina this year.
There was no signage on the hotel and men in lift worked on a big blank space over the entrance. Once inside, a young man with ties to India greeted me at the counter and assigned me a room on the third floor. It took a couple trips for me to get my stuff to the room and I decided I should send an email to a colleague about a matter we had discussed the day before. Problem. There wasn't any internet.
I went down again to the lobby and the the guy talked about some problem with the internet, but I had my laptop with me and was able to connect there. I headed back to the room, but the information superhighway refused to follow. Back in the lobby, the guy repeated the matter of some problem with the internet reaching the third floor. I suggested that he move me down to the second floor where I could enjoy the pleasant embrace of cyberspace. He said that would take some time and he would have to call someone about the internet issue. I sat down in the lobby and typed out my email and sent it--just before the world wide web terminated its relationship with my computer.
Fortunately, the web reached back to ensnare me again, and hotel guy gave me a room on the second floor. I moved my stuff down in two trips. I should mention that I did encounter a few other people who were apparently guests at the hotel and even tried to speak with them--one instance being the couple who got off the elevator on the 2nd floor where I was waiting to get on. I noticed that the third floor button was still illuminated and called to them to let them know they were on the wrong floor. The only words they seemed to understand were the numbers two and three, but they did come back and we all rode up to the third floor. At breakfast there were several people who were speaking an Eastern European language, by my best guess. No one except the hotel guy at the desk spoke English to me.
During one trip back to the new room, I noticed that water dripped steadily from a metal box in the hallway ceiling outside my room. I reported that to the desk and he reported it to another guy coming from the pool. Later, I heard some activity outside the room door and I didn't see any more leaking. Also, the room across from mine had the door blocked by a big X of caution tape.
Later, I learned that the toilet would continue to run after every flush if I didn't remove the tank lid and reach into the water to adjust the flapper. Additionally, the faucet on the bathroom sink would drizzle water back down the faucet and onto the bathroom counter whenever it was in use.
The night before the conference began, some of the presenters and panelists met for dinner. I sat with Lyn Worthen, editor at Camden Press, and Jim Curtis. The later edited the Space Cowboys anthology that contains my short story "Love under a purple Sky." The wings I had weren't great, but the sweet potato fried were pretty good.
I arrived early enough at the conference, where Nate recognized and greeted me, to help carry in comestibles before taking a seat in the lobby where I chatted briefly with Dave Butler. I didn't get to go to any panels or presentations he was on because I was scheduled to be on other panels at the same time. Dave West was there and we conversed, but again, I didn't get to see any of his panels.
I sat on panels about how to handle exposition, what to do about writer's block, and how to make the most of your writing time; I moderated a panel on writing short stories (what with that being almost all I've written during the preceding year).
Several of the Raconteur Press gang were there, including Jonna Hayden, Mike Burke, Rich Cutler, Nick Nethery, Wally Waltner, and others. Nick provided the highlight of the conference for me when he told me how much he enjoyed my Whip and Truth stories in the Wyrd West anthologies he edited. His dad particularly liked the characters. I hadn't been aware that he edited all three of those anthologies. I did not punch Wally, although I told him I should, for rejecting my submission for the Magic Malfunction anthology.
The other memorable highlight was signing the contract with Raconteur Press for my adventure book for boys and finalizing the title. If all goes as planned, it should come out in November. Jonna assured me that the contract paragraph requiring loss of a digit for missing deadlines in the process was purely for shock effect and only seldom enforced.
I had the most fun with the panel on making the most of your writing time. At one point, the lady moderating the panel held my paper nameplate in front of my face and told me I was done talking--I wasn't. I think it was during the time I was advising the young male writers on the importance of finding a wife who was devoted to them and their children and who would support them in setting aside undisturbed time for writing that she tried to cut me off. Later, she did tell me that I was fun to work with. I think she was sincere because we did laugh a lot, and I had to agree with her.
I attended some good presentations and panels, but the time spent meeting and visiting informally with other authors was an even better investment of time. I had nice conversations with Herman Hunter, Jared Garrett, and James Totten--among others. The only dark spot on the event was that I didn't get invited to a dinner or gaming session at the conclusion of the conference. Maybe I'm not as fun as I think.
